


Spaces

by Professor-Babeleth (Lilmisschique)



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Every Blue Lion makes an appearance, M/M, Post-Time Skip, but not spoilery only speculation, except I name drop Sylvain's brother, pre-release
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-23
Updated: 2019-07-23
Packaged: 2020-07-12 10:44:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19944886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lilmisschique/pseuds/Professor-Babeleth
Summary: In this space away from the world, the Devil no longer whispered. In this space away from the world, there was no one there but them.orIn the aftermath of a hollow victory against the Adrestian forces, Dimitri comes face-to-face with a man he once called his greatest friend.





	Spaces

**Author's Note:**

> This angst with a happy ending was requested by Jasmine @Baoxie (on tumblr and twitter), whom I have to thank for unwittingly spreading the word "Fraldarddyd" to the twittersphere. A small part at the end was also based on a Dimitri/Felix work by Mikan (@boomsnk on tumblr, @yadntve on twitter), who also permeated that unnecessarily complicated ship name to twitter. Lassies, your services to the Fraldarddyd brigade won't be ignored. I don't usually do angst with a happy ending so I hope this turned out okay.

The plains of Rowe were quiet, save the movement of armour, bodies piling on top of bodies, and the near-silent sobs of grief. The opposition had retreated, the fall chill nipping at their foreign hides as they turned tail. After an eternity of fighting, Dimitri finally watched the scarlet banners fly farther and farther past the horizon thanks to Byleth’s quick but risky manoeuvre.

It’s safe to say the prince wouldn’t have gotten far without them. His men—and his friends—would live to see another day.  
  
Ash and smoke assaulted his senses. Fire on flesh wafted through the murky air, giving what little light the darkened clouds would not. Fallen soldiers were quickly stripped of their still viable armour and weaponry before being tossed into burning piles.  
  
“May the Goddess take you,” Dimitri whispered lightly to the mountains of bodies. Byleth nodded silently behind them, as they always did.  
  
It was a victory for Faerghus. But the dead were beyond the count of grief. Dimitri gathered with his inner circle atop a mound far away from the burning bodies. They would have to make quick work in honouring the deceased, as the skies appeared heavy with rain. Dedue looked worse for wear, his heavy armour severely dented. Sylvain had been brought over from the Eastern Forces a few days ago, and it looks like the travel hindered his full ability. Yet thankfully he was still alive, holding a distraught Ingrid. Her pegasus had been slain during the battle, and she was forced to fight on a fractured leg after taking a mighty fall—the adrenaline carrying her through the duration of the fight. Mercedes had run off to tend to the wounded once she fixed up Ingrid, and had seen that her prince was okay. Annette usually stayed away from the front lines with the Mage Battalions, remaining unscathed. Today though, Dimitri could see the marks and wounds up her forearms. Magic burns that left her skin raw and red, a result of having too much fire and lightning coursing through her hands. She hid them beneath her robes when she caught Dimitri staring at them, smiling lightly. The pain was there though, unmistakeable in her glassy sea blue eyes. Ashe had pulled through the best out of any of them, likely because of his incredible survival instinct.  
  
But there was someone missing. He had been for a long time. Still, when Dimitri gazed upon his friends and counted 6 instead of 7, he always felt awash with a sense of grief that he experienced few times before.  
  
He wasn’t gone in the sense that he was dead, he should say. Some battles, Dimitri thought, it would’ve been better if he was. It was treason, plain and simple. He often arrived right behind the Riegan commander, his stern face and blue armour a stark contrast with Claude’s relaxed façade and golden palette.  
  
It didn’t matter who lead him, he tore the armies up regardless. His ability to command troops had been abysmal back at the Academy. Now, they rallied to him as he slashed his way through the front lines, his sword coated in blue fire—a trick he had learned after Byleth was able to coax out his innate talent for reason magic.  
  
No one ever said his name. The best he heard was “that traitor”, the worst he’d heard was unthinkable. He was on the tip of Dimitri’s tongue always, but the prince was far too afraid to say his name, for fear that if he did, the deafening silence he would get in response would only serve as a bleak reminder that he was all alone.  
  
He felt a drop of water on his head, soon followed by a gradually building downpour. How cliche, he thought, for the sky to weep for the fallen. For the survivors. For Dimitri. He hated it.  
“They didn’t come,” Sylvain said. They, as in Leicester. This battle was far west, and Dimitri knew Claude would not risk mobilising his army so close to winter, with both Faerghus and Adrestia holding him off from the mountain ranges on both sides.  
  
“Their army didn’t come,” Byleth said quietly, astutely. They said it with such conviction it caused Dimitri to immediately scan the plains for a hidden enemy. Byleth always seemed ten steps ahead of the game for reasons unknown. Dimitri often wondered what kind of old world wisdom his blank faced ex-professor hid deep beneath.  
  
Sylvain’s brow furrowed, “Bylet—”  
  
“There.”  
  
Dimitri’s eye snapped in the direction Byleth was pointing. As if his vision wasn’t bad enough now that it was halved, the weather made it particularly hard to see what they were gesturing to.  
  
“A guerrilla team,” Sylvain hissed. “That Riegan's always up to some underhanded trick. He’s like a desert vulture swooping in on some leftovers.”  
  
“I know those men,” Ingrid whispered, her distress barely contained. “They’re _his_.”  
  
_No_ , Dimitri thought. Not now. Though they turned traitor, he wasn’t ready to let more Faerghus bodies flood Rowe.  
  
It was just him and his personal squadron. No doubt Claude sent them because they knew the land and could withstand the bitter winds she lashed out. And also because he thinks the Leicester leader would find a sick sense of poetic justice in having him be killed by his former closest companion after what Dimitri did to—  
  
Never mind that.  
  
“I see Riegan sent you out here like a hunting dog fetching the fowl.” Sylvain jeered. As he headed the Eastern Forces, Sylvain had stared him down the battlefield more times than everyone else combined. Dimitri knew that hidden beneath Sylvain’s pitch black armour was a massive scar running down his thigh, gained from the first fight they ever had when they found out their friend had defected. He was so fast, so fluid, and convicted in his stance. When his flaming blue blade ran right through Sylvain’s leg, and Dimitri saw the intent to kill barely masqueraded in his eyes, he felt a part of his soul rot. He was showing Sylvain a mercy, but just this once. Dimitri finally realised his best friend was beyond reach. And he had driven him there.  
  
He left that day. Left to a place where Dimitri could never follow. The empty space he had once occupied in his life now a vicious reminder that Dimitri was once again, alone. The day he marched upon the fields of Charon and saw his familiar scowl next to Claude’s easy smile was the day he officially lost hope. The space between them now an impassable ravine.  
  
The neglect, the isolation, the way the words ripped out of him with the venom of a snake. Their bickering was never-ending; in the Dining Hall, on the battlefield, during Mass… All of the secrets he harboured and how he let the slow march of madness bare its fangs and consume their relationship whole.  
  
He could not bring Felix back. And now he was here to kill him.  
  
“I didn’t come on Claude’s orders. It’s just me and my men,” the former Duke said cautiously. It was difficult to hear him in the rain. Yet it was the pounding in Dimitri’s heart that obscured all sounds.  
  
Claude, he said. Like they were suddenly close chums. Were they confidants? Friends?  
  
_Lovers?_ the Devil whispered into his ear. But the thought was gone as soon as it came.  
  
“Seiros be damned, I don’t believe that for one second!” Sylvain snarled. He held Ingrid upright with his left, his sidearm sword drawn in his right. “You and Riegan have connived like snakes since day one. There’s no way this isn’t some shoddy set up. You have no honour _Fraldarius_! You do not care about our country and its values! If you’re here to kill our king I promise you Rowe will be your grave!”  
  
He spat Felix’s former House with such distain, to remind any within earshot that he was nothing more than a fugitive traitor.  
  
“King,” Felix scoffed. “Big words Sylvain. You could never best me in a sword fight.”  
  
“I will have to,” he growled.  
  
“No.”  
  
Ingrid was the one that turned, “Your Majesty?”  
  
“Sylvain, take Ingrid and the rest and get out of here.” Dimitri rolled his shoulders, his relic firm in his hand. What would King Loog think of him today? He wondered, grimly.  
  
“I-I won’t—”  
  
“Sylvain you have to run. There are people waiting for you to come home,” Dimitri glanced slightly at Ingrid. Were they safe up at the Gautier estate? He could not think about it.  
  
The redhead nodded, hobbling Ingrid over to his mount.  
  
Dimitri turned and jumped when he realised Byleth was still standing there, silent and watchful.  
  
“Are we to leave?” They asked.  
  
“Y-Yes, get everyone back to camp, away from this place…” He mumbled.  
  
“You are outnumbered.”  
  
“His men are not like him, in a one-on-one they will hold to their honour and stay away.”  
  
“We won’t leave. Dedue, Ashe and I will push them back.” They nodded to the tower of a man that stood nearby, and Ashe, with his bow drawn already eyeing the old Fraldarius soldiers like a hawk. “See to Felix.”  
  
See to him. To see to… The Church always used those words when they were dispatched for kill missions. It was what they told Dimitri and Sylvain the day judgement was brought down upon Miklan. He let out a shaky sigh. Byleth can only see this fight going one way.  
  
His old professor moved out, brandishing their holy relic, with Dedue and Ashe in tow. No battle cry, no nothing. Just business.  
  
True to word, the former Fraldarius men steered clear of their ex-lord and the prince. Though he had fled from his House long ago, his men still rallied to him in loyalty, and they knew this fight was his and his alone. Felix unsheathed his sword, never taking his eyes off Dimitri. With a flick of his wrist the silver blade burst into blue flame, withstanding the downpour by the sheer force of Felix’s magical prowess.  
  
No matter how bright the light reflected, Felix’s eyes remained dark and dull. A dim shadow of the fiery ambers he so often caught himself staring into. _It’s because it’s you_ , the Devil said. It spoke in hushed tones right beside his ear, so close Dimitri could mistake it for his own voice.  
  
“It’s because of the war,” Dimitri whispered back.  
  
A tut. _Then why do his eyes glow like a sunset when he is with Claude?_ The Devil cackled. _He stares at you with cold, dead eyes, just like—_  
  
“Shut up, shut UP, SHUT UP!” He roared. He lunged, aiming straight for Felix’s face. Take out his eyes, Dimitri thought. Take out his eyes. I can’t have him look at me like this anymore! _TAKE THEM OUT!_  
  
Vision blurred. His body was on autopilot. Felix easily blocked the first blow. But Dimitri was stronger. He forced him back on his heels, bringing an elbow into his gut. Felix pushed the lance aside, winded and angry. He swung up and the prince jumped back, readjusting his grip to extend his reach. Dimitri knew he could avoid getting burned if he could hold Felix at a distance. It would be tough. The man was fast.  
  
“You still talk to yourself,” Felix said. This is the first time he directly spoke to him in so long. Hearing his voice so close nearly made him drop his lance.  
  
“I thought you didn’t like when people conversed during a fight.” Dimitri grit out, he quickly parried the oncoming blade. “Claude changed your mind?”  
  
“You all speak about him like you’re a bunch of petty school aged maidens.” Felix snorted. “I have things to say. So I’m talking.” He slashed through part of Dimitri’s left gauntlet.  
  
“Do not fault me for doubting this. Felix has never spoken to me. Is this another ploy of Claude’s?” His lance throttled through the air, slicing Felix’s cheek and cutting his hair ribbon. Like water, his long dark locks pooled down over his face, wet and clingy. He glared back fiercely, a curtain of midnight blue obscuring all but his intense amber gaze. Still, he made no move to raise his sword.  
  
Every time a word left Dimitri’s lips he grimaced. Nothing had changed since they last spoke to each other. The spite and anger flowed out through a broken dam. He knew he was just making things irreparable.  
  
“You were always so stupid, _Boar_.” Felix spat. “Maybe I’d have talked to you if you didn’t keep pushing me away!” He shook with barely contained emotions. The magic couldn’t hold anymore and the fire burnt out. He swung his sword anyway. No technique at all, just brute force. Dimitri blocked hastily.  
  
“Feli—”  
  
“ _DON’T!_ ” He choked. “Don’t speak my name like that!” _Clang!_ “Years ago I watched you spiral into darkness. I saw the animal that you became! I saw the madness and I tried to help! Every hand I offered, every shoulder to cry on, you rejected. I let you grieve. I gave you space. I gave—” _Slash!_ “—you support! I gave you every-everything!” He heaved, tired from throwing all he had into his swings. Blood flowed freely off his chin but he didn’t care or notice.  
  
Dimitri was so taken aback. It caught him off guard to hear Felix speak for so long, and with so much emotion. He could only remember such a time, back before Felix’s crest manifested…  
He wasn’t even surprised he felt this way. He recognised the gestures, the signs, and the attempts. He knew Felix tried with all his might to scale the high walls surrounding his heart and all Dimitri did in return was pry his grip off and watch him fall.  
  
The space between them used to never exist. Tight as thieves, the courtiers would say. So close it would be almost impossible to bring Felix back to Fraldarius after his visits. In a way, Dimitri thought, it was kind of like a budding sort of puppy love. He thought that was just how one was with their friends. But with Ingrid and Sylvain he never felt that same thrill of just being near one another.  
  
And now the distance between them was leagues apart, separated by walls upon walls built by Dimitri’s own hands.  
  
“It was okay,” Felix said quietly. “It was okay you didn’t accept it.” He turned his gaze downwards. A silence engulfed them. In the beating of the rain the prince swore he heard a hushed sob. When the man snapped his head back up his eyes were narrowed, that familiar fiery glow sparking to life with renewed vigour. Heat exploded off his blade as the blue magic roared once more.  
  
“But what you’ve become; the things you’ve done to our people, our friends, our home… I’ve seen the hideous face behind your princely mask. You’re nothing more than a wild animal—nay, a monster. I’ll never forgive myself for watching you crumble like this.” Felix said. “If you won’t listen to me as a friend, then I will force you to listen to me as an enemy.”  
  
His sword arched high, coming down with the full strength of his anger. Dimitri blocked it, but only barely. His mind was fuzzy. His vision was bad. The rain drowned both his senses and his fighting spirit. He didn’t want to hurt him anymore.  
  
“Why won’t you fight?!” Felix cried. A jab, a dodge, a swing, a parry. Felix pushed and pushed and Dimitri always narrowly managed to avoid injury. It was like he was humouring him. The thought made Felix see red.  
  
“WHERE IS HE?!” He screamed. “Where is the boar prince now?! Where is the bloodthirsty animal I saw on the battlefield so many times?! Fight me! Show me you’re still _in there!”_ He lunged and to his shock, Dimitri grabbed the blade instead, letting it dig into his palm and immediately cauterising thereafter. The king-to-be was expressionless. He made no move to let go, but wasn’t retaliating either.  
  
Felix let the magic flow die.  
  
“I thought you wanted me to fight. Yet you stay your blade.” Dimitri said.  
  
“I-” Felix faltered. His grip relaxed, imperceptibly. He was breathing heavily. Dimitri was stone still, staring at the former Duke expectantly. “Why do you do this? It’s like you want me to kill you.”  
  
“I do.”  
  
The fire roared out of the blade again, channeling Felix’s erratic anger. Dimitri let go out of reflex. The flames came dangerously close to his remaining eye, knocked instinctively out of the way by his damaged hand. Sword and lance locked, and with the last of his strength, Dimitri twisted both out of their grips and sent them flying.  
  
The smaller man tackled him to the ground. Roaring, his fist sent blows down upon the prince’s face, marring them with his metal gauntlets. A sickening crack snapped Dimitri’s head to the side and in a brief moment of fear, Felix stopped, thinking he actually killed his best friend. The shallow breathing from the man beneath him made guilt’s hand relinquish its hold. A blue eye as clear as Leicester’s skies gazed upon him.  
  
“Would killing me cause you grief, Felix?”  
  
Hands gripped the fur mantel tighter. Another fist connected with Dimitri’s face.  
  
“Of course it would you _stupid boar!”_ The ex-Lord seethed. He paused in his thoughts, his hold on the prince trembled. His hair came down around him, blocking his expression off from sight. He leaned down into Dimitri’s mantel, hiding. “But I have to…”  
  
A beat of silence. “I have to save you from this…” He said quietly. Another hushed sob escaped. Dimitri knew better than to comment on it.  
  
A darkness hovered over them, and it took Felix a minute to look up and realize the large blue cloak that sheltered him from the rain. It engulfed them like a safety blanket, blocking them from the sights of Rowe and its horrors.  
  
In this space away from the world, the Devil no longer whispered. In this space away from the world, there was no one there but them.  
  
“…I cannot undo the past.” Dimitri said. “I cannot ease the pain in your heart, nor erase the trauma in mine.”  
  
He could see the man above him breaking.  
  
“And for that I’m sorry.” Amber eyes once so bright with rage held a glassy sheen. Unshed, unyielding and stubborn. “So I will welcome death, content knowing you are the person who will see me off.”  
  
Then he broke.  
  
Felix buried his head back in the fur, fist thumping against his armour, “you were always such a dumb, stupid animal!” He cried. “And I am a fool… t-to think that I-I would…”  
  
Dimitri’s badly injured hand reached up to brush some of the dark locks aside, and pulled the other flush to his body. He pressed his lips lightly to Felix’s, hesitant at first. The smaller man leaned in, and his heart gained courage, peppering kisses all across his face.  
  
“It’s okay,” he mumbled between kisses. “We’ll be okay.”  
  
They remained that way for a long time. The fighting drowned out. Nothing but the cold pelting of Faerghus rain. Beyond this space there was a reality out there that would not be so kind in the perils it sends their way. Dimitri had walked through life thinking he alone would bear its burdens, blind to the ones who offered their hands out to him. But he knew now. When they leave this space, Felix will be right there with him, as he once was before—nay, as he always had been.  
  
Felix’s eyes were closed, relishing in the intimacy and affection he had long dismissed as a child’s dream. “I’ve missed you, Dimitri…” he whispered quietly.  
  
“What was that?”  
  
“Nothing, you dumb boar.”


End file.
